


i can feel you take control (of who i am and all i've ever known)

by Valentia



Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Harry, Canon Compliant, Come Shot, Coming In Pants, Consensual Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Fishnets, Harry in Lingerie, Harry in Panties, Kink Discovery, M/M, Nail Polish, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Safewords, Sex Club, Smut, Spanking, Sub Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentia/pseuds/Valentia
Summary: “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”The man chuckles, a deep, low rumbling in the back of his throat, like thunder breaking through the windows of a safe home.“Baby boy,” he says, “that depends on what you want me to do to you.”—The canon fic based on the Beauty Papers shoot where Harry Styles goes to a BDSM club and gets properly ruined wearing fishnets and panties.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 165





	i can feel you take control (of who i am and all i've ever known)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been too long since I last wrote a good fic. I've been intrigued with Harry x other men than Louis for a while, but I couldn't really learn to love it before this fic. I hope you will feel the same way. After all, Harry deserves to be taken care of all the time. Plus, who doesn't like to read about Harry Styles getting wrecked while wearing lingerie, right?? Right. Best concept. And when I remembered the Beauty Papers shoot, I just knew exactly where this fic had to go. Hope you agree.  
> Thank you to my friend [unmeshed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unmeshed) for doing a quick beta job. Love you, darling.  
> Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> All the love, M. xx

  
  
© **Valentia**

  
  
  
  
The room doesn’t smell of sex. Harry finds himself surprised about that. It smells of people – perfumes, aftershave, musk, sweat. It smells like any other party Harry has found himself stumbling into throughout his life, and for some reason he thought this one would be different. The people surely do look different, many have substituted their denim jeans and cotton shirts for latex trousers and leather harnesses; there are boys in heels and men in masks. That Harry has expected, and yet he feels a little out of place in his cream-coloured, textured blouse, tucked into black leather shorts that barely cover his tiger tattoo, matched with white high socks and fishnet stockings. It’s a bold choice even for him, but it felt fitting more than anything else he’s found in the depths of his closet. After all, he hopes that by the end of the night he will be naked, anyway.

It’s a Tuesday night in downtown Los Angeles and the most prestige BDSM club he could find is packed with people. He doesn’t know where to look – to the lesbian couple frantically making out on one of the couches (with an ample audience) or the gorgeous dominatrix showing off her partner on a leash, who is kneeling on the floor to her feet. It’s intriguing, it’s raw, but it’s not what Harry came here for.

He feels his mouth get dry, so he heads over to the bar. They don’t serve alcohol here, so Harry settles with one of the alcohol-free cocktails. The bartender, a young boy who’s not wearing more than a pair of tight golden briefs – very Rocky Horror – shoots him a second glance as Harry gets his black AMEX card out of his wallet. He was told the club was legit, nothing said or done here would ever leave the establishment, and he sincerely hopes it’s true. The boy gives him back his card with his drink, and that is that.

More people keep coming in, even though it’s already past midnight, and the more Harry studies his surroundings, the more nervous he gets. There’s an electricity in the room that everyone can feel, sexual tension between anyone who so much as locks eyes. Harry holds his drink in his hand and watches the ice cubes move as he swirls it around. The pink paper bracelet on his wrist feels like a beacon to him, an invitation as much as a warning. Everyone in this room knows what they’re in for, knows what everyone else _wants_ to be in for, just by the ring of colour around their wrist. It doesn’t have to spell it out, but there’s a sign at the entrance that explains it anyway. _Pink: Submissive. Looking for a partner._ It might as well say ‘desperate’.

Harry’s drink is half empty when he feels a presence next to him. He looks up from the melting ice cubes and finds a man looking at him. Intently but not intrusive. Kind but certain. _No names_ , he remembers. In this room, his black AMEX might be the only tell-tale thing about him.

“Hi. I saw you staring down at your drink like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. In this room, some people might take that as an insult.”

Harry puts his drink down and a smile on. He’s unsure about how to act, even though he’s read enough about clubs like this to know how things usually go. Although, using the word ‘usual’ in reference to this room might be a paradox.

“Yeah, I was lost in thought.”

“I bet.”

The man leans a hand on the counter, black like almost everything else in this room, and the red of his paper bracelet sticks out against it like a solar eclipse. _Red: Dominant. Looking for a partner_.

“Your first time?” the man asks, his deep voice reaching Harry through a cloud of testosterone and aftershave. He’s the first person Harry’s seen who’s gone for a casual look, black muscle shirt and jeans. Only the way he’s eyeing Harry up and down reveals his intentions. Harry supposes subtlety gets you nowhere in this place.

“Is it that obvious?” he jokes, crossing his legs and leaning an elbow on the counter.

“Very. I had the same frightened look on my face when I came here the first time.”

His accent is very East Coast and his short hair and beach tan make Harry suspect he’s not just in Los Angeles for a short spring break. Even though he seems to be just slightly older than Harry, there’s a maturity and dominance in his aura that makes every paper bracelet unnecessary. Harry feels himself lured in by it.

“I hope that by the end of the night, you’ll look different.”

His implication is obvious. Harry finds his choice of words charming, reassuring even in that it gives him enough room to back out if he wanted to. But all it does is make him want to dive in.

“Me too.”

The last subtlety thrown out the window, the man says, “I can help you with that. I’m looking to go all the way and I like it rough, but not too rough. I’m up for a lot of the usual things, but if there’s something out of the ordinary that you want, tell me that before we go to one of the private rooms.”

Harry is taken aback by just how bluntly he’s being offered sex, even in this place, and maybe that makes him a bit naïve. Still, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy that it’s not himself who has to spell it out. He’s not ashamed of anything regarding his sexuality, but he’s used to holding back in the presence of people, especially in public, and old habits die hard.

He manages to nod. “I would like that. And I don’t have anything, um, special that I want. I just… I want to not think tonight and then remember it tomorrow. If that makes sense.”

The man gives him an amused smile. “For someone as sexy as you, you have a hard time being open about what you want.”

Harry ponders for a second. “Maybe I don’t know what I want.” Maybe that’s a lie.

“That is just as sexy.”

Harry blushes and grins. “Well, thank you. I don’t– I mean, you’re not too bad yourself.”

There’s something about the man that changes as soon as Harry says it out loud, and suddenly he finds himself so close to the other that he can almost feel the man’s breath on his skin. He has to look up at him just a bit, too, and that is more attractive than he likes to admit.

Looking Harry right in the eye, he says, “You can touch if you want.”

Harry wants. The man’s arms were the first thing Harry noticed about him, next to his dark hair and light stubble, and he raises a shaky hand to touch. His skin is soft but firm when Harry feels his biceps. Light as a feather at first, then harder when he squeezes the muscle, rubbing his thumb in circles over the short hairs. His chipped mint green nail polish is accentuated by the man’s darker skin colour. Harry’s used to touching fragile arms, girlfriends who bruise like a peach and will shriek when he grips them too hard. But this arm is firm and strong, tanned and looks just fit enough to do unspeakable things to Harry. It is at the same time arousing and unsettling. He swallows.

“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

The man chuckles, a deep, low rumbling in the back of his throat, like thunder breaking through the windows of a safe home.

“Baby boy,” he says, “that depends on what you want me to do to you.”

The pet name makes Harry’s knees weak. He’s been called ‘baby’ a million times before, but not like this. Never like this. The man probably expects an answer to his implied question, but even if Harry knew what he wanted, he’s experiencing a shyness in this room that keeps him from opening his mouth.

The man must feel his uncertainty, because his teasing smile turns into a genuine one. He says, “I will do nothing you don’t want. And a lot of what you do want, even if you don’t know that you want it yet.”

“And how will _you_ know what I want?”

“Because I know boys like you.”

Harry’s intrigued. “Boys like me?”

The man’s hand finds Harry’s waist. It’s the first time he’s touching Harry, and he slips his pinkie under the fabric of Harry’s blouse where it reveals a bit of his skin. Harry holds his breath, feeling the warmth seep into him where the man is teasing his love handles.

“Yes,” he says, never breaking eye contact. “Boys like you, who come in here lost like a young pup, wearing the prettiest outfits and slightest bit of makeup, who wait all night to be approached, and when they do, they get scared and run away, back home where they take off their pretty clothes and get off on the way the man was looking at them, wishing they hadn’t run away.”

He pauses, trying to hold Harry’s gaze, who finds himself so overwhelmed with the realisation that there might be someone else who’d want it like this, who had the same thoughts of fleeing back into the safety of their city apartment as Harry had all night. He knows that he shares his dreams at night with many other people, but to hear that they have been fulfilled for other, could be fulfilled for _him_ , makes his head spin.

The man squeezes his hip before he lets go, takes half a step back as if to set Harry free and asks, “Are you going to run away?”

He’s so calm, the calm to Harry’s storm, which the man must be too aware of. But Harry doesn’t want to run away. He ran away from this part of himself for too long, and even if he envisioned experiencing it with a lover, not a stranger, he’s curious to find out if the two can become one for just one night. Harry is already aching to touch the man, be touched by him, and if he runs away now he knows he will never come back. Harry takes the man’s hand. It feels big and strong even in his own, and he shakes his head lightly.

“No. I want this.”

The man nods. He runs his fingers across Harry’s palm up until he takes his wrist in a firm grip, squishing the little paper bracelet as he pulls Harry’s hand right in front of his crotch.

“I’m not here to play around. You know what people do behind the red doors. If you want it, then show me.”

Harry finds himself mesmerized in the little changes that occur the second he decides to become serious. The way his grip on Harry’s wrist gets tight but not painful. The way his brows furrow, like he’s concentrating so closely on Harry he ignores everything else. The way his voice gets just a little bit deeper, his stance a little taller, his aura more dominant to the point that Harry feels an impulse to sink to his knees. He wants it. His cock wants it, too.

So he closes the distance between them again, frees his wrist from the man’s grip and places his palm flat on the front of his washed out jeans. He feels warm there, big, and Harry doesn’t know if it’s because he’s already hard or because he’s just got a big cock. Harry feels a rush of adrenaline surging through his body, and he dares to squeeze and move his hand just the slightest bit. He thinks he feels the man’s cock twitch.

Harry looks up at him with wide eyes, swallowing dry. He doesn’t really know what to do now that he’s got the man’s cock in his hand, more or less. He hopes his message comes across.

“Tell me, baby. I need you to say it.”

Harry feels his cheeks get pink. He’s never been shy when it comes to sex, but he’s never felt like this either in front of someone – like what he wants is so special it borders on forbidden. It’s the man’s fault Harry feels like a child asking for a treat, like he’s sucking the confidence right out of him. Harry feels lightheaded already, and he wants more of it.

“I want it,” he whispers, feeling their heads getting closer. “Please.”

He feels his own breath reflected on the man’s lips, but just before they can touch he is let go of, almost falling forward as the man takes a step back, giving Harry space that he doesn’t want right now.

“No kissing,” the man says. After a second he adds, “Sorry.”

Harry pouts. Fine.

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll put your pretty mouth to good use either way.”

Harry shivers. If the man is as big as Harry felt through the thick denim, he wants to get his mouth on him right here, right now. He’s playing with the open buttons on his blouse as the man says, “Let’s go find a room.”

Harry nods, but stays where he is. He’s embarrassed at how helpless he feels, especially in the presence of someone whose pleasure it is to take care of helpless boys like him. The man chuckles again. He takes Harry’s hand, a softer grip this time, and rubs circles into his wrist with his thumb.

“You’re sweet.”

Harry grins and looks away but lets himself be lead through the crowd of people. They pass someone who’s almost naked except for a pair of panties and a collar, talking to a man in leather pants, shirt, boots and mask. The leather guy’s head turns to Harry as they pass, and Harry squeezes the man’s hand a bit tighter. There is a squeeze back.

The first five doors that they pass in the hallway are occupied. There’s no sound coming from them except for one, where Harry hears something that sounds like a harsh slap on skin, followed by a high-pitched moan. He wonders if people are going to hear the two of them, too.

The sixth door is open and the man leads Harry inside, letting go of his hand to properly lock the door. It gives him a second to look around the room. There’s a black floor like in the main room, but the walls are grey and the light in the room shines faintly red. There’s a bed in the middle of the opposite wall, king sized at least, with white pillows and a red duvet covering the sheets. The left side of the room has a table, chairs, a sofa and a sex swing, the wall on the right is covered in sex toys from top to bottom. Dildos, strap-ons, vibrators, handcuffs, rope, paddles, cock rings, harnesses, plugs, things that Harry has never seen before in his life and couldn’t even say what it is used for. He tries not to think about it. It’s overwhelming having endless possibilities, but he has boundaries and it’s scary enough already having to trust a stranger not to overstep them.

Harry waits for the man to lead the scene, less now because he needs him to, but because he wants him to. Harry feels the urge to kiss him again, but he remembers the man’s rule – his first rule – and keeps his distance. When he doesn’t speak, the man nods as if he answers a question that Harry never asked.

“Go and sit on the bed.”

There is no hint of emotion in his voice. It’s pure dominance, and Harry is surprised at how much that already affects him. When he sits down on the bed it dips below him, and he buries his hands into the duvet to keep himself grounded. The man watches him, and from a distance Harry gets to appreciate his tall frame and trained body even more. Eventually, the man slowly walks towards Harry. It’s silent in the room except for the sound of the AC in the top corner of the room. It faintly smells of sanitizer and sex. When he comes to a halt in front of Harry, he raises his hand without the bracelet to Harry’s neck. His touch is warm and invites Harry to lean against it.

But then he says, “This won’t work if you’re scared.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak but doesn’t know how to explain what he feels. He feels want. The want to let go, the want to escape, the want to feel more than what his previous partners were able to give him. And maybe the thought of getting his mind blown once and then possibly never again is overwhelming even to Harry Styles. He’s found and lost so much love in his life, he wonders if it’s possible that he’s become numb to fear.

“I’m not scared,” he tries to explain himself. “I think I’m just… nervous. You said you’re going to fuck me and I don’t even know your name.”

The man’s hand on his neck travels up until he’s running his fingers through the strands of Harry’s hair. He grips a few of them and lets go again, and Harry involuntarily follows the motion. He can feel his pants getting tighter.

“You can call me whatever you want, princess.”

“Daddy.”

Harry is surprised at how quickly the word tumbles out of his mouth. It’s been on the tip of his tongue ever since they locked eyes for the first time. It’s been on his mind for much, much longer. If his browser history is anything to go by. And then there’s _princess_. Harry feels a shiver run down his spine. It’s so delicate, so innocent, so _feminine_. He can’t say he doesn’t like it.

“Good boy,” the man replies, gripping Harry’s hair tighter again. “So you do know what you want. How did I get so lucky tonight, having found such a precious little slut?”

Harry takes in a sharp breath at the slur, feels his cock twitch and his heartbeat quicken. He lets out a high-pitched noise. The man uses the grip on Harry’s hair to tilt his head up, so Harry is no longer looking up at him from between his eyelashes but forced to look him straight in his eyes. They’re darker than before, or maybe it’s the lighting.

“You like that? When I call you a slut?”

Harry nods. The man pulls sharply on Harry’s hair, making him wince.

“I told you, I need words.”

Harry swallows again, his mouth hanging open. “Yes,” he replies.

Another tug, harsh. “Yes what?”

“Yes, Daddy, I like it.”

The man lets go of Harry’s head in a heartbeat, making it fall down onto Harry’s chest. Harry feels used already, and they haven’t even taken a single piece of clothing off. He feels himself getting so, so hard.

“Look at me.” Harry lifts his head up. “I use safewords, and with you I’d like to use the colour scheme. Do you know it?”

Harry nods, before he remembers he’s supposed to use words. “Yes.”

“Good. My safeword is Mars. What about you?”

Frankly, Harry has spent too much time thinking about it. So much time that he’s ended up writing a whole song about it. Though he’d never say that out loud, not even to his bandmates or fans, even if he thinks they somehow know it all anyway.

“Medicine,” he says.

“Remember it. Use it whenever you need, please.”

“I will.”

“Take your shirt and trousers off.”

There it is again, the slight change of stance and aura that makes Harry’s cock smear the front of his pants with precome. He complies quietly.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

He’s shaking lightly as he unbuttons his shirt, pulling it out of his pants completely and letting it fall open, exposing his butterfly and the laurels that disappear beneath his pants. His cross necklace hangs off his sweaty neck, shining in the faint light. He feels like a sinner.

“Usually I am. But...”

“But for once you don’t want to have to say anything.”

Harry nods. “Yes,” he breathes.

The man takes his time admiring Harry’s chest and stomach, before he shoves the blouse off his shoulders. It’s Gucci, and Harry feels pathetic throwing it on the floor next to the bed. It’s like the only thing that still has any worth to him in this room is how good he can be for Daddy.

“You’re hot. And you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. Though I do like it when they beg.”

He watches as Harry opens his trousers and peels them off his legs, along with his shoes and socks. He hasn’t shaved, didn’t think he’d want or have to, but looking down now at where his light hair sticks out of the holes of the fishnet stockings, he kind of wishes he had. Under the fishnets, a pair of panties is stretched out obscenely by his hard cock. They’re black lace, with a floral pattern at the hips and cut so that they accentuate the roundness of his arse. There’s a small wet patch at the front already. The air feels cold through the thin lace and his cock shivers.

“Fuck,” he hears the man say, and it makes his chest swell a bit with pride.

“Pretty boy,” the man says, before he leans down and puts one hand on each of Harry’s thighs. He can watch the man read his tattoos above and below his knees and on his thigh, studying the tiger from beneath the fishnets. The man kneads his barely covered skin, gaze unashamedly fixed on his crotch, before he spreads Harry’s legs as wide as he can and steps between them. He takes Harry’s chin in his hand softly, touching his cheek and pushing the tip of his thumb between Harry’s pink lips.

“Be a good boy and suck Daddy’s cock.”

Harry lets out a quiet noise of approval. The man pushes his thumb deeper into Harry’s mouth for just a second before he takes it out again, wiping it on Harry’s chin. Then, he lets go of Harry completely, puts his hands behind back and waits. Harry has understood a while ago that tonight, he’s going to have to work for it. He can’t say it’s not exactly what he wanted.

He feels like a slut sinking from the bed down to his knees. He can feel the texture of the fishnet stockings cut into his knees and calves, feels the tight hug of the hem around his narrow waist. He wastes no time getting Daddy’s cock out, letting the head hit his chin lightly as it is freed from the confinements of his briefs. He’s not completely hard yet but getting there, and Harry stops himself to take in the moment before he tumbles down the rabbit hole too fast. The man’s cock is thick, about as long as his own, and he feels his mouth fill with saliva. It’s been too long since the last time he’s had a cock in his mouth, or anywhere near where he wants it most, and he finds himself overwhelmed with how much he missed it.

“Don’t be shy, baby, we’re all alone now.”

Daddy’s pants are pulled down just below his thighs, exposing his sun-kissed skin, and he’s still wearing his black shirt as well as his shoes and socks while Harry is almost naked, and the implications that this has for their dynamic makes Harry’s cock throb. He has to lean down a bit to get his mouth on it, but it’s worth it when he takes the first lick and tastes the familiar bitter- and saltiness on his tongue. He knows he’s being watched and it makes him want to be good. Good at sucking cock, good at following orders, good at pleasing Daddy.

Harry licks his lips once more and collects spit on his tongue before he takes the tip in his mouth. He suckles on it, runs his tongue in circles over it and feels the weight of it in his mouth. He moans quietly, not because it feels so good, but because he’s waited far too long for this. Spent way too many years trying not to think of this, not to give in to the voice in his head and the feeling in his belly whenever a man of his type so much as looked at him. And even if he did, he’d never allowed himself to be the one that’s on their knees first. But frankly, he’s not ever going back.

Harry takes more of the shaft in his mouth, starts moving his head back and forth on it, closes his eyes and smells the light scent of sweat, musk and perfume. The hair is trimmed and Harry feels it tickle his nose as he goes all in, taking him down as deep as he can without choking, licking and sucking and swallowing like he’s a starved man. Maybe he is.

“Fuck, you’re good at this, princess.”

His hand finds Harry’s head again, gripping his hair and pushing him down a little, just hard enough that Harry can still pull off if he needs to. When he moves his head back to keep the tip in his mouth and looks up, the man has his eyes closed, the other hand pressed into his own thigh. Harry appreciates the view very much. He goes back to swallowing him down, feels how hard and thick he is now, stretching his lips and making it hard for him to move his tongue around it anymore. Every once in a while, he feels the saltiness return, and he swallows each drop of precum down eagerly.

That is, until he’s roughly pulled off. Daddy is looking down at him approvingly, a line of spit connecting Harry’s lip and the tip of his cock. “Such a pretty face with pretty lips. If you ever come back here, I might fuck your throat hard.” He runs his hand through Harry’s messy hair, slipping a thumb between his swollen lips. Harry sucks on it for a second before the man takes it back and instead softly strokes his cheek. Harry leans into the touch. “I’m not done with you yet, though.” 

Harry doesn’t have time to reply, because the next second he’s being pulled up by his hair and thrown down onto the mattress behind him. Daddy is hovering above him, taking off his shirt. The duvet is cold on Harry’s bare skin, but he feels hotter than he has in a while. He takes a second to admire the broad shoulders and shaved abs he’s presented with, tan lines where he must have worn short sleeved shirts all summer. Harry can appreciate a handsome man when he sees one, and if he wasn’t feeling so foggy maybe he would have even dared to touch him. Instead, he spreads his legs wider, letting the man settle in between them, who presses his hard cock against Harry’s clothed one. He runs a hand down Harry’s chest, flicking his hard nipples, and thrusts against him smoothly two, three, four times. It’s not enough to be satisfying, but enough to keep Harry aching for more. The stands up again to take the rest of his clothes off, except for his briefs. Those he pulls back up over his cock, making them bulge in the front.

What wrecks Harry more than anything about him is how uncertain the man is. He can touch Harry softly one second and pull his hair or shove him away the other. In his world, Harry can barely afford the luxury of spontaneity anymore, so this feels almost like an out of body experience. Almost. He is too aware of his throbbing cock and spit-wet face.

“Colour?”

“Green, daddy.”

The man takes his time undressing Harry with his eyes, his gaze caught by Harry’s tiger tattoo. He leans down and takes Harry’s leg in his hands, propping it up so he can rest his chin on the knee. His fingers knead the flesh of Harry’s thigh, his tongue licks a wet stripe over the fishnets from his knee up to where his thigh meets the hem of his panties. It’s dirty, it’s sensual, and it makes Harry’s cock fatten up. It almost makes him feel like a woman who’s being taken apart by her lover, and he closes his eyes and sighs.

A moment later, the man climbs back on the bed. He keeps rubbing his hands over Harry’s thighs, playing with the fabric of the fishnet stockings. On the front, he gets dangerously close to where Harry wants his fingers most. On the back, he teasingly rubs them over his arse, dipping a thumb under his panties. He doesn’t seem to have any intention to undress Harry any further, though. The thought of getting fucked in his panties and fishnet stockings sends a shiver down his spine and to his crotch.

“Do you like your arse played with?” Daddy asks.

Harry wants to scream his answer. “Please,” he breathes, voice cracking as the man presses a finger on his hole through his panties.

He chuckles. “Such a polite boy. Turn around.”

Moments later, Harry finds himself lying on his belly, his cock trapped between his abdomen and the mattress, still confined in his wet panties. Daddy spreads his legs and manhandles him to put a pillow under his crotch. First the fishnets, then the black lace of his pretty underwear is slowly pulled down over the globes of his arse, far enough that he feels the air dry the sweat between his cheeks. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and more relaxed and happier than he has in months.

“These look so good on you, can’t pull them off completely.”

So what he does instead is pull the hem of the panties up a few inches, just before he lets it go and makes it snap back on Harry’s cheeks. Harry twitches from the pain and can’t stop the whimper coming out his mouth. He thinks he might be salivating onto the duvet. Daddy does it again, lets the stretched-out hem of the panties hit his skin hard, and this time Harry’s moan gets louder. He lets out a tiny “Yes”. He feels the man’s hands scrape over his arse cheeks like a stinging massage, up his back to nape of his neck, and back down again. Harry hopes it leaves red marks that he will find in the mirror tomorrow.

“You like pain.”

Harry doesn’t know if it’s a question or a statement, but either way the answer is the same. He presses his arse up against the flat palms. The answer is immediate. Harry moans as the first spank lands on his left cheek, right where his thighs meet his arse. It stings so good, and he can feel his cock strain in his panties. He quietly waits for the second spank to come, and when it doesn’t, he begs.

“Again, please.”

The second spank is much harder, borders on too much, and Harry lets out a pained noise.

“Please, what?” he growls.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, Daddy.”

The third spank is much lighter again but painful enough that Harry enjoys it more than he probably should.

“It’s not so hard, is it, baby?”

For someone who has millions of people eating right out of the palm of his hand, having to work for it like this feels like something out of a dream.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He gets another spank on his left cheek, before Daddy rubs over his reddening skin soothingly, spreading and kneading the flesh firmly. “Shhhh, it’s okay, baby. You’re doing just fine.”

It’s a sweet thing to say in the position that they’re in, and Harry finds his belly swarming with butterflies at the compliment. “Thank you, Daddy.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, only the sound of the AC whirring in the background, before he feels another two spanks land on his cheeks, one after the other. He thinks he hears the man moan, too.

“Colour?”

“Mhh, still green.”

“Give me your hands.”

Until now, Harry has been lying on his arms, but now that his leverage is gone, most of his face is buried in the pillows. He has to turn his head to breathe. It puts a strain on his neck, but he doesn’t complain. After all, this is not supposed to make him feel comfortable.

“I’m going to tie your wrists together on your back. If you pull too hard, you can hurt yourself. Don’t. Use the colours or safe word if it’s too much.”

Harry tries to nod. “Yes, Daddy, I will.”

He gets a light slap on his bum in return. “Good boy.”

He can’t see much in the position he’s in, but he’s able to watch the man get off the bed and go to one of the walls with toys, coming back with one of the plain, light brown ropes. Harry’s lying there waiting, with his hands clasped together on his back. His cock is still incredibly hard and the wet lace is rubbing torturously over his head whenever he moves around. A loose strand of hair has fallen over his eyes. It feels sweaty, but he doesn’t dare to use a hand to push it back.

Daddy ties his hands up swiftly, like he’s done this to a hundred boys before. Maybe he has. Harry likes the thought of being one of many, instead of one in a million.

“Too tight?”

Harry tries to move his hands around. “No. Good.”

He gets his arse spanked again. “Up.”

Harry feels incredibly ungraceful as he shuffles around to get his knees beneath his arse. Once he does, his face is completely pressed into the pillows. It’s the only thing keeping him upright and he just knows he will have a sore neck tomorrow. But it’s worth it. The necklace hits his chin, feeling cold against his heated face. For what feels like an eternity, the man lets Harry sit there like this, tied up, with his panties and fishnets pulled down over his arse, his lips swollen from sucking cock and his dick hard and wet. In a way, Harry has never felt this wanted in his entire life.

However, he didn’t expect a tongue in his arse so quickly. Without a warning his cheeks are being spread apart and Daddy’s licking at his hole, letting his spit dribble down his arse and nipping and sucking on his rim. It’s no comparison to touching himself there with his fingers or a toy; it’s wet and hot and the man’s stubble is scraping his cheeks sore. Harry can’t help but start moaning into the pillow, a litany of “yes” and “oh” and “fuck” spilling out of his usually reserved mouth. He tries to press his arse into Daddy’s face, tries to get _more, deeper, please_ , but as soon as he does, the man is gripping his wrists tight and pushes his body away. Three hard spanks land on Harry’s arse and he feels his eyes water.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He gets spanked again, this time lighter and with only two fingers right over his wet hole. He shouts and curses. They’re making the same sounds now as the pair that Harry heard through the door as they came here, and he wonders if anyone in this club knows him, knows who he is, and what they would say if they saw him like this.

“You’re such a slut for it,” Daddy spits at him, no trace of softness left in his voice. “Can’t keep still, huh? Would you rather ride me with a cock ring on until you’re fucking crying from overstimulation? Is that it?”

He spanks Harry again, who’s choking on his breath. “N-no. No, I’m sorry. I’ll be good.”

“Last warning, understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He feels the man spit on his hole before he goes back to eating him out. Harry lets out an embarrassing whine, boring his nails into his palms to distract himself from the urge of bucking his hips and pushing back into the wet heat of the mouth. Daddy eats him out with the intention of getting him close, pushing his tongue in deep, fucking Harry’s arse with it and delivering smack after smack to his burning skin. He hasn’t touched Harry’s throbbing cock all night, and Harry thinks he’s going mad with how good everything feels.

“Please,” he begs, because he can’t not. “Daddy. Please fuck my hole.”

He hears the man chuckle again, breath hitting his wet arse. “Baby thinks he gets to decide what happens, huh?”

“N-no, I just–”

“I know, baby boy, I know. Colour?”

“Green.”

He licks over Harry’s hole one last time, swirling his tongue around inside him, before he sits up.

“Gonna fuck you like this. Look too good with your pink arse up high and your pretty face in the pillows.”

He runs his hand through Harry’s sweaty hair, finally pushing the strand of hair out of his face. Harry feels wrecked already, and all he can think is _more_.

More comes in the form of two fingers being shoved into his open mouth. He can barely move his jaw in this position, but the harsh “Suck” that he gets a second later makes him try anyway. He uses his tongue to lap around the fingers, lets his mouth fill with spit and closes his lips around them. The man presses his fingers down on his tongue, shoves them in almost all the way so Harry coughs when he takes them out. He gets them back a second later, doing his best in slicking them up, and when Daddy pulls them out with a pop, Harry tries to follow them with his mouth. He hears chuckling. What can he say, he likes having his mouth filled.

Then there’s cold lube on his hole and he feels two slicked up fingers pressing into him at once. It would be painful if it wasn’t for the job that the man’s tongue had done in opening him up before, and Harry feels himself relax into the feeling of being filled up. His fingers are long and thick, doing a perfect job of making Harry crave for what’s coming. His cock drips more precum as the fingers start to move in rhythm, trying to find his spot and spreading him open on the inside. Harry bites his lip, a single tear running down his cheek. The man doesn’t miss it.

“Colour?”

Harry swallows. Speaking is hard, because his jaw hurts from being in this position and having to hold the weight of his entire upper body upright.

“Green, but… more lube, please.”

Daddy runs a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp as if he was petting a cat, and Harry makes a content noise. Then he strokes Harry’s neck, leans down and whispers, “Good kitten.” Harry hides his amused smile in the pillows. More lube is added around his hole and now there are three fingers in his hole, enough to be painful, but not enough to make Harry question whether he wants to keep going. He already feels so full, and when the fingers find his prostate, he can’t help but curse and buck up against the pressure.

“There?”

Harry can only let out a weak moan and nod. The man presses down on his upper back to keep him still and then starts fucking him with his fingers in earnest, pressing against the spot with every thrust. Harry’s cock is being pushed out of the top of the panties, and the rough slide of the lace hem over his cock is driving him wild. He knows his dick is pushing out precum with almost every thrust, and as he turns his head to look beneath himself, he sees a line of it connecting his cock to the duvet. It looks fucking obscene with the top of the fishnets pressed against his exposed dick, and his arse and thighs bouncing with the force of every thrust. He feels himself getting close. His moans are getting loud by now as he’s trying to squeeze his legs together, but Daddy’s still sitting between them and he can’t. The man’s cock still clothed, too, and Harry loves the wave of humiliation that crashes over him when he thinks about it.

Just when he feels like he’s going to come, everything stops. Fingers in his arse gone, he gets another spank, and his cheeks are being spread apart with wet, warm fingers. “Fuck, baby, doing so well. So sexy. You gonna take Daddy’s cock now like a good slut?”

Harry wouldn’t want to stop if his life depended on it. “Yes, please, Daddy.”

He hears the man take off his briefs and throw them on the floor with their other clothes. Immediately, there’s the slick sound of a guy jerking himself off frantically, and Harry wants to believe that the man is at least half as desperate to get his cock in Harry’s arse as Harry is. The lube cap opens and closes and then his hole is covered in it and he feels the slick head of thick cock pressing against his crack. He’s wearing a condom, of course, but it takes nothing away from the feeling of the hard flesh on his skin. Harry wants to beg for it, but all he can do is make small whiny noises. His entire body aches from being in this position for so long, but it’s a good pain. The kind of pain that will help him remember this. And God, does he want to remember it for the rest of his life.

The man doesn’t make it easy for him now either, keeps pushing the head of his cock between his cheeks and against his hole, comes close to pushing in but never fully does. Harry feels his hole twitch, even as his arse is being slapped with the cock, the sound wet and sticky. He’s desperate now, desperate to be filled up completely, to let go, to let himself be the most vulnerable, to be held and taken care of. He’s had sex quite a few times in his life, with men, women, sometimes with both at the same time, but no one called him ‘princess’ or ‘kitten’ while doing it, no one could meet his needs so well, and to Harry it feels like this might be the only sex he’ll ever really miss.

When Daddy pushes in, Harry feels euphoric. The slight burn is soothed by a strong hand on his back, stroking him, and he feels every inch of his cock stretch him open. It feels like too much, but it’s not. It fits perfectly and Harry finds himself almost unable to breathe as soon as the man’s hips meet his arse. Harry’s cock is angry red, wet and hurting, untouched for what feels like at least two hours, but the last thing he wants is to do anything about it. It’s not just about enjoying the pain, it’s about putting your pleasure into someone else’s hands – the hands which are now gripping his hair again, pulling on it until Harry’s head is painfully stretched back. The pillow under his face is wet from spit and the occasional tear. He feels messy, slutty, and utterly happy.

The man starts making deep noises in the back of his throat as he starts fucking Harry. First slow, then faster when Harry’s moans get louder. His wrists are straining against the rope, leaving red marks on his tender skin. Yet he wants to be marked up more, wants his chest and thighs littered with bruises, but he knows this is neither the place nor the time for something like that. For now, he’s content with Daddy’s hand adding to the scrapes on his back and pinching his nipples, so that a thick glob of precum drips down into the puddle on the duvet. The pain is gone now, replaced with pleasure and intense heat and tingling all over his body.

Occasionally, the thrusts get slower, so the man can make him feel the full length of his cock. He pulls almost completely out, just to push back in until his entire cock is buried in Harry’s arse. Harry’s legs are absolute jelly, and when he can’t hold himself up anymore, Daddy takes a hand from his chest and wraps his arm around his stomach, pulling him back up. Harry knows he’s tall and has muscles, but right now he feels like a lightweight, feels like this man could pick him up and fuck him against every wall of this room without so much as breaking a sweat. He likes being manhandled, to be the one who’s falling and being caught. It makes him feel soft and delicate, even while there’s a cock pounding him from behind.

They fuck like this for a while, alternating between slow but deep and fast and short thrusts, a combination that brings Harry close to the edge. But suddenly, the man stops and leaves Harry feeling empty. Wit the cock and arm around him gone, Harry can’t hold himself up and breaks down on the duvet, lying flat on his tummy. His cock is squished between his tummy and the bed again; the fishnets are sticking against his sensitive skin. He only has a few moments to breathe before he hears Daddy’s fucked out voice ask, “Colour?”

Harry’s mouth and throat are completely dry, but he still manages to press out a croaky, “Green.”

“I’m going to take off the rope because I don’t want you to hurt yourself, you’re pulling on it too much. Then I’m gonna fuck you on the edge of the bed.”

Harry whines as the rope is slowly being taken off his wrists. He hadn’t realised how sore the material would make his wrists feel. He moans in relief when the rope is finally taken off, but far worse is the pain in his back and shoulders. Having stayed in this position for so long, it hurts too much to move his arms by himself. He tries and curses at the cramps.

“Slow, baby, slow. Here, let me…”

Harry feels useless as Daddy helps him place his arms in a comfortable position next to his body, rubbing over his red wrists to help with the blood flow. “Proud of you,” he says, and Harry could cry from the appreciation in his voice. He helps Harry turn around and pulls him down towards to the edge of the bed until his arse is barely hanging in the air. “Look at those panties, shit, they’re fucking ruined.”

Harry’s vision is blurred from tears and eyelashes clumped together, but he doesn’t have to see anything because he can feel how wet and sticky they are. The hem is cutting into his hips and lower arse from being stretched, but he doesn’t have the heart to ask to take them off. It’s messy. He likes it messy. His cock is sticking out the top, flopped to the side and leaving drops of precum on the fishnets and his butterfly tattoo. He likes the look of that, too.

“So beautiful,” he hears the man say, and he dares to believe him. “You can touch yourself, princess, okay? Come whenever you want.”

He hoists his legs up and pushes back in, and Harry feels full again. The man doesn’t start off slow this time, instead angles his hips differently every few thrusts until Harry’s moaning with it and he knows he’s hit the spot. Harry has one hand buried into the duvet, the other arm lying on the top of his head. He’s being jostled back and forth with every thrust, feels the burn on his back even from the silky soft blanket. The pressure on his prostate is better than anything he’s ever felt before, and he wonders how he could have ever doubted that this is what he wants and needs.

The man is cursing under his breath, the sound of his hips hitting Harry’s arse loud and spurring them on. Inside Harry, the pressure builds and builds. Daddy takes his legs and throws them over his shoulders, leaning forward and putting his weight on his arms that are bracketing Harry. He’s practically bending him in half, so that he can fuck Harry even deeper. Harry thinks with a smile about how everyone will shoot him strange looks tomorrow when he tries to sit down.

“Close,” he breathes, taking a hand to finally, finally, shove the fishnets and panties down and touch his begging cock to get himself off. It’s so warm and wet, and his mint green nail polish creates an obscene contrast to the dark red of the head of his cock. He curses, loud, at a particularly perfect thrust, and then he feels that he’s going to come.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, please.”

He sounds pathetic, wrecked, and even though his eyes are closed he sees nothing but colours and stars. And suddenly he feels like falling, flying, and he’s coming hard, spurting ropes of come all over his chest, his belly, his hand. He’s quiet when he comes, breath stuck in his throat and eyes squeezed shut, the hand on his cock lazily stroking himself through it. He feels lightheaded, sated, free.

The feeling lasts for as long as the man lets him have it. He’s fucked through it shallowly, and when he breathes again, Daddy grips his thighs and thrusts into him hard again. Harry feels himself being tighter than before, so very sensitive, and he whines as Daddy gives it to him mercilessly one last time. His sticky hand smears come all over his thigh as he grips onto himself, fingernails boring into his flesh.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit–”

Harry feels the man pull out and he just has the mind to open his eyes and watch, before Daddy rips off the condom and comes all over Harry’s tummy. This time, Harry takes in the warmth of each spurt hitting his skin, some on his panties and fishnet stockings, some on his cock, most of it on his tattoos. _Messy,_ he thinks, and his head falls back onto the pillows, empty.

Slowly, the man puts his legs back down. Harry winces as his body is moved out of the stretched position. His chest rises and falls fast, his heart beats in his throat. As he runs the clean hand over his face, he realises that he’s been crying again. He’s not ashamed.

“Fuck,” he hears the man curse, and then he shuffles back a bit to give him space to sit down, too. Harry has been so occupied with himself, he hasn’t even looked at the man yet who just gave him the best sex of his entire life. He’s a complete mess too. Sweat dripping off his forehead, his neck and chest reddened, his legs shaking and his cock only just softening. When they look at each other, Harry wants to gift him a million things. He doesn’t say it, but hopes his smile tells him as much.

The man chuckles. “You liked that, I hope?”

Harry breathes harshly, grinning. “A little bit.”

“Me too.”

It’s silent for a minute, the calm after the storm, and Harry runs a hand through his hair before resting his head comfortable on his arm. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “I, um, I don’t have many chances to experience something like this.”

The man shrugs. “This isn’t my first time here and won’t be the last. If you want a repeat, you know where I am.”

Harry nods and presses his lips together. He doesn’t dare to tell him that he probably won’t be around here again for quite some time, going back to England for a while and then on tour. When his gaze flicks down, he sees what a mess they’ve made of him. His butterfly is sprinkled in white, so are his laurels, and his panties are wet and sticky all throughout the front. He’s going to have to go home without them.

“Here.” The man reaches over to the table next to the bed and gives him some tissues. Harry takes his fishnet stockings and ruined panties off and cleans himself up as good as he can. The fishnets are ripped around his crotch and on his thighs, wet from come, too, so he sighs knowing he has to throw them away, too. He’s already aching to take a steaming hot shower once he’s home. He wonders if it’s weird that they’re still here like this, quietly enjoying each other’s naked company. He doesn’t mind though.

“Alright, will you be fine?”

Harry nods, opening his eyes that fell close in fatigue. “Yes.”

“Are you sure? Do you need anything? Water? Do you need me to stay?”

Harry is surprised by how much the man seems to care about him, even if he just fucked him like he was nothing more than a cheap whore. Or maybe that just means he’s good at what he’s doing. He shakes his head.

“No, I’m good. Promise. I’ll get some water on the way out. Thank you for everything.”

The man starts putting on his clothes. “Don’t thank me, sexy. It was as much fun for you as it was for me. Sorry for the marks on the back, though, got a bit carried away. Hope you don’t mind.”

Harry waves it off with his hand, stretching his legs out. They crack and he clears his throat, putting one leg over the other to cross them. “It’s fine. I liked it.”

“I know you did.” He shoots him a small smile. “Take care. I’ll lock the door from the outside, so you can leave when you’re ready.”

Harry still feels a bit lightheaded, not to mention his body hurts in places where he didn’t even know that he had muscles, so he appreciates the care. “Again, thank you.”

He watches the man walk towards the door, but just before he leaves, he turns back around. “Hey. I didn’t want to ask earlier, because I thought it might be weird, and you don’t need to answer, but do I know you from somewhere? Some of the tattoos on your arms… I thought I’d seen them before.”

Harry sits up. He eyes his arm tattoos in amusement, shrugging. Then, he looks the man straight in the eye, puts on the most innocent smile he can muster up and says,

“No, I don’t think you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much if you made it this far. I appreciate the read!  
> Please leave kudos and/or a comment, it helps immensely with knowing what you guys like to read.  
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hxrrysangel_) if you want to chat for a bit.  
> Have a nice day, wash your hands and TPWK!


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